


taco nights

by poetictragedy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Drug Use, I guess you could call it that., Mild Language, Shotgunning, Smoking, mild jealousy, stoned!Sciles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetictragedy/pseuds/poetictragedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best friends get high together and Stiles <em>really</em> wants some fucking tacos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	taco nights

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a random as fuck ficlet that popped into my head for some stupid reason. I felt like writing it because a) Scott and Stiles smoking pot and b) tacos.
> 
> I apologize for any mistakes and for the randomness of this.
> 
> (Also, let's pretend that normal weed works on werewolves, okay?)

“ _Dude_.” Stiles sits up on the floor and stands, going to sit on the bed beside Scott, who’s got a joint between his lips and a zippo in his hand. He draws his knees up and lays one on the mattress, keeping the other against his chest, grinning at his best friend. “I really… dude, I  _really_  want some fuckin’ tacos,” he says slowly, his voice quiet.

Scott ignites the end of the joint and takes a drag as he turns to look at Stiles, his eyes narrowed a little. When he pulls the joint back, he tips his head and parts his lips, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

“Come  _on_ , Scott. Let’s get some tacos. I need them or, like, I’ll explode and die and you don’t want that, do you?”

“Tacos,” Scott repeats and Stiles nods, his eyes wide. “Dude, yeah, that — that sounds like an _awesome_  idea.”

The grin on Stiles’ face spreads and he holds his hand out. “Lemme finish that before we go look for some,” he says but Scott shakes his head, smirking.

Before the other boy can take it away, Scott puts the joint to his lips and sucks, his cheeks hollowing out just slightly. He pulls it away and moves his hand to the back of Stiles’ head, bringing him forward until their mouths touch. 

Stiles parts his lips and allows the smoke to enter his mouth. He stays close to Scott until the other boy pulls away and he eases back, holding the smoke for a few seconds before letting it go.

“D’you think Taco Bell delivers?” Scott asks, his expression serious.

A laugh bubbles up from Stiles’ lips and he says, “I dunno — call ‘em.”

When Scott reaches over to put the roach in the ashtray, Stiles lays back on the mattress and stares at the ceiling. He’s feeling warm and happy and hungry, like there’s an empty pit in his stomach and he needs to fill it with tacos.

Cheap, greasy, but _delicious_  tacos.

“Where did you put my phone?” Scott grumbles, patting Stiles’ pants pockets before moving to his own, laughing. “Got it,” he announces and lays back, going through his contact list.

A moment later, Scott dials a number and brings the phone up to his ear, listening to the other line ring. On the third ring, someone picks up and Scott frowns, recognizing the voice. “Taco Bell?” 

The man on the other line replies in a gruff voice and hangs up, causing Scott to laugh louder than necessary. He looks to see who he called and laughs even more, rolling onto his side as he doubles over.

“The fuck is your problem?” Stiles asks, though he snickers a little.

“I — called —  _Derek_!”

Stiles laughs and claps a hand over his mouth, cackling against his palm, though the sound is muffled. Unlike Scott’s laughter, which is raucous and on the verge of becoming a howl.

They both calm down a few minutes later and Stiles grabs his own phone, looking up the number to the Taco Bell in Beacon Hills. He dials the number and hands the phone to Scott, who’s wiping his eyes and laughing softly.

When someone answers, Scott immediately asks, “Do you deliver?”

Of course, they answer “no” and Scott asks why not. He keeps asking a bunch of random questions — like “what time do you close” and “how many tacos can I get for ten dollars?” and “what’s your name?” — before the employee hangs up on him.

“Rude,” he mumbles and giggles, handing the phone to Stiles. “We should drive and gimme some tacos.”

“I dunno if I should drive, man.” Stiles takes his phone back and makes a sound like he just got an idea. “Maybe — maybe we can, uh, call Derek and see if he’ll go buy us some tacos and we’ll totally pay him back,” he suggests. _  
_

Scott purses his lips in thought and nods. “Let Derek see and text me,” he says and blinks, realizing that sentence was wrong, and he laughs. “I will text the big bad Alpha and see if he’ll get us some tacos.”

“And nachos.”

“And a crunchwrap,” Scott adds, licking his lips. His stomach growls as he brings a message up to Derek, asking for tacos. 

While he does that, Stiles sends a message to Isaac, asking the same thing in case Derek decides not to do it. “I hope Blondie brings us some instead,” he mumbles and when Scott asks why, he continues, “because Derek’s, like, a  _butthole_.”

That makes Scott laugh again and he shakes his head. “Sometimes,” he agrees.

It takes ten minutes for them to get a response and Derek tells Scott to leave him alone because it’s eleven o’clock at night. Fortunately for them, Isaac agrees to buy them food, and Stiles replies with their order, even going as far as sending a bunch of hearts and smiley faces.

“Isaac is — dude, he’s the best,” Scott murmurs.

“What about me?” Stiles asks, pouting.

Scott snorts and lays against Stiles, sighing. “You know you’re the Kirk to my Spock, man,” he answers and Stiles giggles. “No, dude, totally. You are, like, my captain. Oh captain,  _my captain_.”

“Shut up, dork.” With a playful shove, Stiles gets Scott onto his back and settles down on the mattress beside him. “I’m going to totally kiss Isaac on the mouth when he gets here,” he mumbles.

“Nooooo, don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause I don’t want you to,” Scott replies, frowning.

Stiles’ forehead wrinkles in confusion and he looks up at Scott. “Why don’t you want me kissing Isaac? S’it cause  _you_  wanna kiss ‘im?” _  
_

“No.” The word comes out soft and Scott sighs. “I just — you’re, like, the Pepper Potts to my Tony Stark. I, like, love you dude and I don’t want ya kissing anyone else,” he grumbles.

“You  _love me_.” Stiles grins and leans up, planting a big, wet kiss to Scott’s mouth, to which he grumbles and makes a face. “You totally wanna kiss me instead, huh? Don’t you?”

Groaning, Scott shakes his head and flicks the lighter, holding it up above them, watching the flame. He’s avoiding the question and expects Stiles to keep bothering him about it, but the other boy just lays on the mattress next to him, their arms touching.

For the next twenty minutes, neither of them speak. Scott brushes his hand against Stiles’ and keeps flicking the zippo, closing the top on the flame once it’s ignited.

Isaac shows up soon after that and knocks on the window. Stiles gets out of bed and goes over to unseal the windowpane, shoving it up with a grin.

“Isaac! You got me tacos,” he says, taking the bag from the other boy before going to sit on the floor. The paper bag crinkles as he opens it and he takes a taco out, unwrapping it. “Man, I love you so much right now you don’t even  _know_.”

Scott gets out of bed and goes to join Stiles on the floor, looking up at Isaac with a smile. “Yeah, man, thanks,” he says and leans over, grabbing his wallet from his back pocket. He takes a ten out and hands it over before grabbing a taco of his own.

“Are you two — are you _high_?” Isaac asks as he slips the money into his pocket.

“Only a little,” Stiles answers with a mouthful of food.

“More than a little,” Scott corrects before taking a bite of his taco, nearly shoving the whole thing into his mouth. God, they are delicious and only make his stomach growl louder than before. So, he grabs another and unwraps it as he chews what already in his mouth.

From the window, Isaac shakes his head and says, “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

The two of them wave to Isaac as he leaves and Stiles scrambles to his feet, stumbling over to the window. He shuts it and sits down on the sill with the bag of tacos in his hand and an unwrapped one in the other.

“Dude,” Scott says after swallowing the first taco, “these are so good.”

Stiles hums in agreement and finishes his first one before grabbing another as he makes his way over to the bed. He dumps the contents of the bag out onto the mattress and counts their spoils. “There’s six more tacos,” he announces.

“Two for you and four more for me.” 

“Hell no.” Stiles shakes his head and divides them equally, setting three aside for Scott and three for himself. “There. We each get three more tacos and if you eat mine, I’ll kick your werewolf butt.”

That makes Scott laugh and he nearly chokes on his food, but he nods and agrees to each having three tacos. He eventually gets off the floor and goes to lay on the mattress with Stiles.

For the rest of the night, the two of them eat tacos and tell stories, do impressions, and laugh at each other. It’s a good night overall, their first bro night in a long time and the first time they’ve ever smoked pot together.


End file.
